


The Peculiar Tale of Mr. James Henry and Dr. Pellinore Warthrop

by Firegirl210



Category: The Monstrumologist Series - Rick Yancey
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Bromance, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl210/pseuds/Firegirl210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It would not be an exaggeration to say my father had worshipped Dr. Warthrop." And it would be a grievous lie to say the doctor was indifferent to him. This is the story of James' devoted service to doctor Warthrop, the bond which they shared, the adventures upon which they embarked, and the true story of James Henry's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Knew I Kept You Around for a Reason, James Henry

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Pellinore, James, Will, Mary, or any of the other characters which may grace these pages. They belong to the wonderful author Rick Yancey, whom I greatly admire.

“Doctor Warthrop? Good Morning, Sir! Would you like me to put a kettle on?” I received no answer to my call as I removed my hat and coat, slinging the both of them over the staircase railing. The house echoed with silence, but that didn’t mean all was well. Often it meant quite the opposite here on Harrington Lane.

“Doctor?” I passed through the entryway to the cluttered kitchen, noting a half-full pot of black tea on the stovetop. He had probably spent the night awake as usual. The basement door stood slightly ajar, which answered my wonderings as to my employers location. I put together a meager breakfast on a tray and shouldered my way down to the dank dungeon in which the doctor locked himself away all hours of the day and night.

“Doctor Warthrop?” I called as I reached the bottom of the steps, and a gangly form gestured sharply from the examination table in the center of the room at my appearance.

“You’re late. Snap to, James Henry, we have work to do!” he commanded in his usual brusque manner, and I set the tray on one of the counters that lined the room with hard learned quickness. The scent in the basement was by now familiar to me, but that did little to decrease its unpleasantness. A mixture of the sharpness of bleach, the dankness of a windowless underground chamber, and the undeniable stench of death permeated the doctor’s workspace, and I steeled myself before obeying my employer with the utmost haste.

“Scalpel, quickly!” he ordered and I retrieved the instrument from his assorted doctoral tool kit, placing it in a blood spattered glove. He hunched over the table bearing some kind of furry beast the size of a hefty sow but shaped like a hideous rat. He sliced open the creature’s midsection and mumbled something into his mask. I could not understand him and therefore waited for him to repeat his words. He pointed violently to the tool kit, splattering drops of creature blood across the floor.

“The clamps, James, the clamps!” I handed them over and he pinned back the hairy outer dermis so he could get at the parts he was really interested in--the organs. I had long since learned to suppress my gag reflex, and the squelch of organs being removed from the chest cavity hardly phased me. I quickly fetched several specimen jars from the shelves of containers floating with multitudes of unmentionable things, filling them with a combination of alcohol and formalin specifically designed for the preservation of organs of a more inhuman nature.

“Heart,” he extended the muscle and I quickly caught it with the container, capping the jar and sealing it. A stomach, a lung, a spleen and two miscellaneous smaller organs later he brushed his hands together satisfactorily, a useless gesture, and turned to me with eyes that glowed excitedly. It was that mad glimmer that never failed to make me nervous and send a thrill of exhilaration through me in the same instant. The doctor’s passion was my own, infectious and intoxicating.

"This is a marvelous find, James! It was brought to me at the crack of dawn by a fellow from the Chicopee river. There have been reports of rodents of unusual size in the area back to the early colonial period, but never did I imagine such a healthy specimen of such size! Do you realize the importance of this discovery James Henry?" he lowered his face mask, running a hand through his wildly unkempt locks as he removed his gloves. I took them from him, hurrying to the sink to clean the blood and gore from the rubbers.

"I'm sure you will enlighten me soon enough, sir," I replied with a smile. He paced restlessly, a caged panther, as I cleaned all the bloody surfaces his antics had soiled.

"But you're sharp, I certainly hope you would be capable of deducing for yourself. Don't disappoint me, James Henry!" he chided, and I sighed as he fiddled uselessly with the row of meat hooks dangling from the ceiling.

"I suppose it would mean your original hypothesis you shared with me several weeks ago regarding the size of the creatures was incorrect. And if they are reaching this size they must have a steady diet of food available... Perhaps their burrow is somewhere near a dump?" I suggested as we hauled the body up onto a meat hook, smearing gore across his smock and my arms. He turned to me, dark eyes backlit with that sunfire I had come to personally know, sometimes fear and almost always love.

"Good, James Henry! You're getting much better," he commented, and I allowed myself a self-satisfied smile as he gripped my shoulder briefly with his slender hand before sweeping past me to rummage for labels for the newest jars. He tossed them to me before I even had a chance to clean my hands, and I set about lettering the stained papers in my moderately legible handwriting.

"Now the question is, why haven't there been more sightings? A healthy population of creatures of this size, even being nocturnal, would surely have been noticed by now. My question, James Henry, is what is keeping their numbers down? These Rodents of Unusual Size have no known natural predators in the New England area--at least none that could devour a healthy adult--and yet something is restricting their growth. Habitat? Impossible, they could flourish near any source of scavenge. And why come out of hiding now? What is it, James?”

He stared intensely at the hideous creature as if it would come to life and give him all the answers he required, and I shook my head, plastering the final label of ROUS--SPLEEN to the corresponding jar.

“I don’t know sir,” I admitted, and he took to pacing again, across the bare floor of the basement nearly to the stairs and back again. He passed the large map of the country several times, barely sparing it a glance, and I approached it thoughtfully. The Chicopee River ran through southern Massachusetts into Connecticut, fed by a small body of water.

“Doctor, isn’t this where they’re building a new dam?” I asked, and he paused in his flutterings, coming to stand beside me. His lean form passed my own in height slightly, and he flicked out his spectacles to peer at the location I indicated. He pounded his hand into his fist in excitement, whirling on me and gripping both my shoulders as he was taken with an almost insane excitement.

“Of course! Construction noise and work would drive them out of hiding, and perhaps the human interference is exactly what keeps their population down! It would also explain the rash of sightings occurring of late! James Henry, I knew I kept you around for a reason!” he cried, then swirled off to the stairs. I followed somewhat breathlessly, catching only snippets of his tirade.

“...must journey there at once...of utmost import...a whole species at risk...relocation perhaps?...are you listening James Henry?”

“Every word, sir,” I lied, catching the partially stocked field kit he kept about for just such an occasion as he threw it to me. He dropped to his knees in the closet, rummaging around for something.

“Make ready the horses, we shall ride to Quabbin Lake and make inquiries. Bring my pistol, and the winchester too. It may be dangerous come nightfall,” he called, his voice muffled. I frowned in unhappy surprise.

“Shall we be gone that long, sir?” I inquired, and he emerged wielding a large box with holes drilled in the lid of it. It resembled a giant mousetrap.

“Almost certainly. If they are nocturnal creatures we must hunt them when they roam!” He replied, as if it were obvious. I nodded, but could not hold my tongue.

“Should I inform the missus then?” I asked, and he blinked at me as if confused by my question.

“Whatever would you need to do that for?” he responded quizzically, and I set several boxes of ammunition in the field kit, avoiding his piercing gaze.

“The wife and son are expecting me for dinner, sir. If I’m to miss I’d best let them know,” I explained, and he dismissed my concern with a wave of his slender hand, diving back into the contents of the closet.

“If you must. But be quick about it, we’ve an expedition to attend to!” He cried, and I moved something inside the kit to reveal the putrefying carcass of a small mouse. I lifted it by its tail and disposed of it, heading outside to ready the horses. If I could finish hastily enough then there would be time to leave word with a neighbor to pass on to Mary. She would love that, and I’d doubtless pay for my negligence at a later date. Will would be disappointed that I wouldn’t be home again, but the doctor needed me.

I had promised to stay at his side, and that was a promise I intended to keep.

 

 


	2. And for God's Sake, James Henry, Don't Miss!

In my youth I never imagined I would end up in the situation in which I currently found myself. I lay on my belly in the thick New England underbrush, watching the workmen as they went about the work of surveying the area to be dammed. Doctor Warthrop lay beside me, stone still, eyes roaming restlessly across the vista. After arriving at the site in early afternoon, we had made inquiries with as many people as we could convince to speak to us on the nature of the environment and any peculiar sightings. We had been dismissed almost immediately, and that led to the doctor taking us back roundabout to hide and wait for nightfall. My long suffering patience was wearing thin, however, and the light of afternoon had yet to pass five o’clock.

“Doctor, maybe we--”

“Shh,” he hissed, and I dropped my chin on my arms, surveying the area. The number of workers had dwindled considerably, but several still loitered about, smoking or joking with their coworkers. I redistributed my weight, rolling onto my back, and the doctor gave me a disapproving look as I glanced up at him.

“What do we plan to do when night falls?” I breathed, and his dark eyes scanned the horizon intently.

“We have stumbled upon a much more interesting situation than I originally imagined, James Henry. This goes beyond human and rodent interaction--there is a bigger fish afoot, if you pardon the pun.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, returning to my earlier position, arms and legs tingling from lack of movement.

“The rats, James Henry, the rats! Something is eating them, and prior to today I would have assumed that improbable. But the men--look at the men,” he instructed, and I did so, glancing at the remaining surveyors. The lakeshore shimmered beautifully, and on a warm day like this had been it would be expected that many would have taken a dip around noon on their lunch break. But the beach lay printless within a five yard radius above the water line, and I looked to the doctor in surprise.

“There’s something in the water,” I postulated, and his eyes glowed with pride that warmed my chest.

“Precisely! And whatever that something is, it has strayed from a diet of rattus norvegicus gigantus as of late,” he decided, and I gave no comment on his impromptu christening of the rodents of unusual size. “There have been several cases of unexplained drownings since the early days of the project, and they are ill at ease to speak of it. If you notice, they avoid the waterside. They are skittish, edgy, like spooked horses. Humans are still animals at heart, James Henry, never forget that.”

I nodded, wrapping my mind around the implications of this discovery. “So we may be dealing with a lake monster,” I clarified, and he gave a long suffering sigh.

“James, there are no such thing as monsters, simply cryptids that have yet to be recognized by mainstream science," he chided, "we most likely have some sort of amphibious creature related to the Japanese Kappa or the Russian Vodyanoy. However this behaviour seems highly unusual for a river dweller,” he murmured, and I leaned my chin on my hand, trying to keep the extremities awake. Lying in bushes was not one of the aspects of Monstrumology I enjoyed. My shoulder leaned against his, the thin wiry muscle of his arm cool against mine due to our lack of movement. He would easily play a statue if he had to in the name of his research, for as long as he deemed necessary.

“Normally a river-child lures young children to their doom by bridges or footpaths--an area this remote is an odd habitat indeed. It must have turned to the rodents as an alternative diet when its access to more desirable and tender flesh became restricted,” he said, reaching across his body and swatting sharply my arm where it rested against his to indicate which type of flesh it preferred. I yelped in indignation, and he grinned wickedly as a plan formed in his genius mind. I had learned to be wary of such a look.

“I refuse to be bait, Doctor Warthrop, even in the name of your research,” I warned, and he waved me off as if my suggestion were ridiculous.

“Of course not, James, you are the better shot between us and frankly too intimidating to tempt a clever creature such as this. Despite my superior height, between the two of us I believe a predator would be drawn to me as the sicklier of the options. You will stand guard by the trap,” he stated, and I stared at him for a moment in disbelief before chuckling and rolling back onto the balls of my feet, brushing my vest clear of Massachusetts soil. It was insane, of course, but the Doctor had completed more ridiculous schemes than this. If he commanded it, so should it be.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Several hours later, darkness finally fell upon the surface of the water, and we had orchestrated our lake monster--cryptid--trap. We set a snare, similar to the kind one would construct for a rabbit, only much larger. I placed the bloody carcass of a large hare I had been instructed to catch inside the circle after dragging it up the beach, leaving a tempting trail for any predator. Now the doctor and I crouched in the bushes, conversing in whispers.

“When it breaks the water we will withdraw into the trees. If it does not react to the pitiful offering of a slaughtered hare, I will attempt to draw it into the trap. Are we in agreement with this plan?” He asked, and I swallowed my apprehension with a nod. I had traveled with the doctor on enough field hunts to know his intuition was usually correct, and also that he would go ahead with it whether I agreed or not. He threw an arm in front of me suddenly, eyes seeming to glow in the twilight.

“Movement on the shore, James, to the trees!”

We clambered into the boughs of the surrounding flora, and once the doctor would have tumbled out if not for my quick arm. He of course refrained from acknowledging it and merely hissed at me to snap to and prepare my rifle.

A shadow surfaced at the edge of the water, and we fell silent, the eerie stillness of night falling around us like a stifling blanket. It crept onshore, roughly the size of a small man, bipedal but crouched so its hands touched the sand. It seemed to smell the trail of blood and hopped along it, almost comical in the rising moonlight, but then halted abruptly.

“Rabbit is not its natural prey, as I said James,” the doctor hissed smugly, and I clenched my eyes closed and refrained from pushing him out of the tree. He began to ease his way down, and I caught his collar, making him look up at me.

“Be careful,” I pleaded, and he waved me off with a soft snort.

“I should have no need of caution. We have a set trap, and I have a pistol. If all else fails, I have you. And for God’s sake, James Henry, don’t miss!”

Then he climbed down the trunk, stepping into the shadow of the trees. When his boot crunched upon the floor of the forest the creature’s head snapped around, and it stared at him with eyes as bulbous and luminous as those of a fish. It inched closer, but seemed wary of the tall quarry. My breath hitched as the doctor crouched, reducing his level of threat.

“Come along then, Kappa, you’ll get no better meal tonight,” he urged, and I saw the glint of metal in the darkness. I realized too late he had drawn a knife across his arm, letting his human blood pool in the sand. Foolish, suicidal even! This had the desired effect, however, and the Kappa bounded up the embankment and, to my dismay, disappeared into the brush. Instead of following the game tail as we had expected it was going at him in a roundabout path, and he stiffened as he realized the danger he was now facing.

“Doctor, come back to the tree,” I called softly, urgently, and he shook his head motioning to wait. He listened intently, slowly circling the trap so as to place it between himself and the creature, and I followed him with the barrel of my rifle.

It burst from the undergrowth with shocking speed and was upon him before I had a chance to react. He fell back to give me a clear shot and I took it, firing down, but the bullet scraped off the turtle-like shell on the Kappa’s back and it barely paused its assault. Doctor Warthrop reached for his pistol as I reloaded with shaking hands, but the swirl of limbs and cloth blocked my view of his state.

“James!” His cry sent ice curling through my veins; the desperation of it had no parallel in my experience, and I leveled the gun and took a breath.

The shot rang out and the creature shrieked and fell to the side, a hole blown in the side of its cranium.I half climbed and half fell out of the tree in my haste to get to the doctor. He reached a hand up to me as I fell to my knees at his side, blood racing in my ears.

“Pellinore!” I cried, gripping his hand, but he gestured to the kappa with the other, shaking his head.

“Quickly, wrap it in burlap to return to the lab,” he ordered, but I was busy trying to inspect any wounds he must have received from his encounter with the creature. My hands felt warm with blood, but the darkness beneath the trees proved too thick to gauge the damage. He suddenly slapped me in the cheek, alerting me to the fact that he had been directing orders my way.

“James! Prepare the creature or it will have all been for nought!”

I searched his stormy eyes for some kind of plea to the contrary, but he was obviously serious so I left him, fetching the burlap sack we had brought for retrieval of the specimen--albeit intended for a different sort of creature--and returning to the scene. To my concern the doctor had managed to sit, but gestured to the creature when I tried to come to his aid.

“Snap to, James Henry!” He  commanded, and I hurriedly rolled the Kappa in the thick material. It felt slimy to the touch, reminiscent of a frog, and weighed more than I expected. I hauled the body back to the horses, lashing it to my sturdy stallion, before making my way back to the doctor. He had pulled himself to his feet and was now leaning on a tree, but waved me off when I attempted to help him.

“I am fine, stop your heckling! Just bring my horse and we’ll be off for New Jerusalem with utmost haste,” he snapped, and I obeyed. He pulled himself with difficulty into the saddle, and in the moonlight I saw his pant leg glistening with wet blood.

“Are you certain you aren’t injured badly?” I queried, and he shook his head vaguely, either unable or unwilling to speak. His horse trotted casually along, but as we progressed his rider began to slump forward in the saddle. I realized he was losing consciousness from blood loss.

I pulled my stallion up close beside his, and he started when I gripped the reins, slowing his horse. His brow creased, but he made hardly a noise when I shifted from my horse to his, lashing my stallion’s reigns to the rear of our saddle. He struggled weakly when I settled my weight into the saddle behind him, but his narrow hips fit between my legs easily, and when I took the reins from his hands he went limp gratefully. I caught his shoulder and leaned him back against my chest, spurring the horses to a slightly quicker pace. His breath came shallow in my ear, and I nudged him with my shoulder.

“Doctor, how do you think a creature like this got here? They aren’t indigenous to this part of the world, are they?” I urged him to speak, to stay conscious, and he stirred slightly in response. He could not resist an oratorical opportunity.

“Possibly...it could have migrated...from further south...become trapped,” he replied weakly, and I nodded.

“Amphibious cryptids are unusual, aren’t they? Why is that?” I pressed, and he sighed, his narrow chest rising and falling shallowly.

“Their anatomy...difficult to hide...” he trailed off into silence, and I urged the horses faster. We reached the outskirts of New Jerusalem, and I rode at a slightly unsafe pace considering our cargo and the state of the monstrumologist. I dismounted at a run halfway down Harrington Lane, pulling the horses into the stable and hauling the Monstrumologist free of his saddle. He had lost consciousness completely and would doubtless ridicule me endlessly for leaving the kappa lashed to my horse the moment he regained it. But his chastising was my smallest concern at the moment.

I kicked the door open, cradling the doctor’s head against my chest and hurrying to the stairs. The doctor had put us in a fine fix this time, I thought nervously as I pushed one of the spare bedroom doors open with my shoulder, setting him on the clean linens. I fumbled with a gaslight, bringing the room into dancing shadows after burning my fingers in my haste. I bent over the doctor, inspecting his wounds.

The Kappa had torn at his abdomen with spiny claws, flaying the skin away, and his left shoulder had been maimed by something similar to a turtle or a raptor’s beak. I dug under the bed for the first aid kit I had prepared for occasions such as this due to experience, removing the materials I would need. His eyes roamed wildly behind closed eyelids, and I lay a cool cloth on his forehead.

“You best not die of this, you fool, because I’ve a mind to kill you myself.”


	3. What of Me, James Henry?

I slipped inside my home, leaning against the door momentarily as I listened to silence on Clary Street. My bones ached, my limbs sagged and I hadn’t slept or eaten in at least twenty hours. I had cleaned Doctor Warthrop’s wounds and given him something to make him sleep after a long process of dressing the lacerations, but he would likely come out of it right as rain the way he always did.  I pushed off the door, making for the stairs and a welcome bed.

“James Henry, where in God’s name have you been?” A voice snapped from the kitchen as I tried to sneak past, and I flinched at the silhouette of my wife in the doorway.

“The doctor needed me--” I tried to explain, and she put her hands on her hips frustratedly, her face settled in an angry glower.

“Well of course he needed you, he always needs you. But you and that man were nowhere to be found when I was about just yesterday, and you couldn’t be bothered to come home last night either,” she said sharply, and I sighed, approaching her. Mary was a pretty woman of just past thirty with soft brown hair and pale brown eyes that could snap fire or admonish gently depending on her mood. She fended off my hands as I tried to place them on her shoulders.

“Doctor Warthrop is ill, I had to attend him Mary. He can’t do these things on his own,” I tried to make her understand, and she huffed, folding her arms.

“You treat him like a child. Better than your own child,” she accused, and I glanced up the stairs where young Will was doubtlessly listening to every word.

“I am all he has,” I said helplessly, and she gave a long suffering sigh.

“James, someday you’re going to go off with that man and you’re not going to come back. Are you willing to take that chance? What of Will? What of me, when you die on one of his horrible excursions to heaven knows where?” she demanded, and I took her hands, kissing them apologetically.

“I will not stray from the path he has laid for me, Mary. I owe him everything,” I explained, and she turned away from me.

“Make yourself useful and put Will to bed,” she said in her clipped angry voice, and I tramped up the steps to my young son’s bedroom. I opened the door to find him holding a candle close to his book and smiled.

“Find yourself an interesting book, did you son?” I asked, sitting down beside him on the edge of his bed, and he nodded vehemently, setting it aside.

“It’s a story about pirates,” he explained, “but Mother thinks I shouldn’t be reading such things. It’s such a wonderful story, can’t I continue Father?” he pleaded, and I rested my hand on his thin shoulder as his large hopeful eyes gazed up into mine.

“I don’t see why not. Maybe you’d best keep it our little secret,” I suggested, and he grinned, pushing it beneath his pillow.

“Will you keep my secret as well as you keep Doctor Warthrop’s?” he asked, and I felt sadness gnaw at my chest. He just didn’t understand, but hopefully he would never have to.

“To my last breath,” I swore solemnly, and he burrowed down into his blankets contentedly. We spoke his nightly prayers and I kissed his forehead softly, wishing I could explain to my blood why I did the things I did.

“Father?” his voice called out plaintively, and I paused in the doorway. “I had a nightmare last night, and...well there’s no such thing as monsters, are there Father?”

I came back to his bedside, smoothing down his flyaway hair. “Nothing can hurt you here, Will, I’ll keep you safe,” I promised, and he pulled the blanket higher nervously. I couldn’t promise him nothing lurked in the darkness, but I could calm his fears.

“Move over, boy, I’ll stand guard,” I assured, climbing into the tiny bed with my small eight year old. He laughed and rolled to the edge, and we settled down into the blankets quietly as the house creaked into silence around us.

William curled against my chest, and I let my weariness overtake me as the darkness of slumber pulled me into a pleasant embrace.

\---

I hurried up the stairs without bothering to discard my coat or hat and rushed directly into the room where I had left Doctor Warthrop the night before. I nearly bowled over the lanky figure standing by the foot of the bed, leaning on a bedpost for stability.

“James Henry! Just where have you been?” he demanded as I stumbled to a halt, grabbing Warthrop’s shoulders to slow myself. My brake of choice was neither stable nor prepared and we would have gone down in a flailing heap had I not caught the bedframe quickly. His hands clasped my shirt in surprise, and dark eyes flashed into mine disapprovingly as we regained our balance.

"You ought to be more careful, you'll do yourself harm," he chided, and I let him ease his hands from my shirt slowly, helping him to sit at the foot of the bed. He wouldn’t say a word of thanks for my service, but I had become familiar with his ways and the sting of rejection was not so sharp now.

“How are your wounds feeling?” I queried, and he grunted with a sharp jerk of his shoulders, trying to rise again. I caught him firmly in the chest with the heel of my hand, sending him back to the bedcovers where he belonged. Our eyes and wills clashed violently as he glared at me.

“I am not an invalid, James, and am perfectly capable of nursing myself. And on the topic of your disregard for my capacities, you have failed to answer my question,” he pointed out sharply, and I glanced at him from my place by the washbasin, ringing out a rag with which I intended to clean his wounds.

“What question would that be?” I asked, failing to remember what exactly the doctor has asked me, and he gave a long suffering sigh.

“Where have you been, James Henry?”

I returned to his side, bearing fresh bandages and alcohol solution. “I went home for a brief rest,” I explained, reaching for his shoulder. His eyes were dark and his brow furrowed as I began unwrapping the dressing.

“And if I had required you more urgently? What of me James Henry? You traipsed all the way to Clary Street for a snatched respite when there are several spare bedrooms here that could easily serve such a purpose without removing you from my presence,” he admonished, and I looked up at him in bewilderment.

“I had been absent from home for nigh two days, Doctor, my wife had cause to fear for my life,” I pointed out, and he huffed like a spoiled child.

“Wife. More of matrons than matrimony in that woman,” he muttered, and I sighed, passing the cool cloth across the raw flesh of his shoulder.

“Be gentle with her, doctor, she has a right to be upset. I swore a vow to her before I swore my oath to you,” I reprimanded, and he threw his hands up, nearly knocking the rag from my grip.

“This is precisely the reason I shall never wed, James Henry. The fairer sex is entirely too demanding and confounding for the likes of a man of science,” he cried, and I could not suppress a chuckle. Even he, the most brilliant man I dare say I shall ever meet, was at a loss when it came to the female race. He fell silent as I redressed the bruising puncture in his shoulder, a bit unnerved by the pressure beneath the surface. If infection set in, the need to consult a more qualified individual would likely arise. Explaining to origin of his wounds could be difficult to say the least.

“When you married her, were you in love?” he asked suddenly, and I paused a moment to contemplate this uncharacteristic statement. That the doctor had an understanding of the concept of love was a new development to me. Why he had asked me of my own feelings proved even more confounding.

“Well...yes, I do love her. I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t. And Will too,” I explained, and he hummed softly, a similar noise to the one he made when observing a particularly interesting amoeba beneath his microscope. I rewrapped his shoulder and moved on to the bandages about his midsection. He made no reply, simply observed me with the singular intensity that was at once exhilarating and often quite unnerving.

“And you Doctor?” I asked, stripping the bloodied bandages from his narrow waist. This wound looked noticeably worse than the one on his shoulder, and he hissed in pain when I applied the rag.

“What of me, James Henry?” he asked, his voice low in pitch, and I glanced into his storm dark eyes. They held me there for a moment before I broke the eye contact, unable to withstand his intensity.

“Have you ever been in love?” I asked casually, perfectly aware that I knew so little of his personal life that we were practically strangers at times. To my surprise he laughed harshly, pushing his hair into cyclonical waves as he ran his delicate fingers through it.

“I have no answer to that, James. Love does not come to men such as myself. I have an unfortunate tendency to infect everything I touch with the darkness of this philosophy.”

The resignation in his voice mirrored the self-mockery in his laughter, and I felt a twinge of sadness for him. Pellinore Warthrop was a solitary man by choice, but perhaps not by choice only.

“You shan’t drive me away, sir,” I promised, and felt that piercing gaze on me once more. He sighed and leaned forward, his tousled head resting against mine in a sort of unconventional embrace.

“Your voluntary departure is not my concern. What would become of me, were you to meet your demise? I will bring an end to you, James Henry, one way or another,” he murmured, and I let out a short huff of indignation, knocking my brow against his.

“I should like to see you try, Pellinore. I believe you’ll find me harder to rid yourself of than a common house servant!” I retorted lightly, and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, melancholy momentarily forgotten.

“If you were to leave my side I would surely fall to ruin within hours. You had best keep your promise, James,” he warned, and I nodded abruptly, finishing his bandaging with an unnecessary flourish. He was unsteadily on his feet almost instantly, pulling a shirt over his narrow chest.

“Now, to see to that Kappa! Snap to, James Henry, we waste daylight with infirmary!”

 

 


	4. What Do You Live For, James Henry?

The Doctor made quick work of the Kappa; labeling, cataloging, and cleaning the resulting mess fell to me. Warthrop disappeared sometime in the beginning of this process, restless and exhibiting early signs of what I knew would soon become what I had christened ‘stagnation sickness.’ Doctor Warthrop had an unusual tendency to spiral into self-loathing and hopeless depression when he had no work with which to distract himself, turning in desperation to introspection. This was a dangerous time for everyone, but most especially for Pellinore, who refused sleep and nourishment on mere stubbornness and who required constant care lest he should cause himself some irreversible harm.

I quickly discarded the last of the Kappa’s jarred and labeled organs onto the proper shelves before retreating up the stairs and emerging like Orpheus back into the world of the living from Hades’ realm below. The teapot sang its high-pitched shriek, and as I entered the kitchen I nearly bumped into my wife who was currently performing her duties as the doctor’s cook and housekeeper.

“James! I wondered where you’d gone to--the good Doctor just swept by like a hurricane in a foul mood. He’s gone and shut himself up in his room again, sulking no doubt. What have you got on your new shirt?!” she quickly shifted to chastising me about the nature of cleanliness, and I accepted the criticism for as long as I could bear before excusing myself with the well worn point that the doctor needed me.

“The doctor needs you? He always needs you! He would keep you here forever if he could, if you didn’t have a wife and child to return to on the odd day when you bother coming home. James, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mary dear, I do apologize but I must see to the doctor. I love you,” I kissed her forehead gently, and she went to attend to the screaming kettle with a frigid glance up the stairs. I made my way up, approaching the closed door towards the end of the hallway with resigned disquiet. The doctor was nearly impossible to interact with when he became like this, and yet the duty fell upon my shoulders.

“Doctor Warthrop?” I opened the door with a polite but unnecessary knock to find him standing by the window. He did not turn at my entry, merely gazed out on the grey afternoon with a sullen expression, hands clasped behind his back.

“Would you like something to eat?” I suggested, although I knew he would refuse--even the raspberry scones he was so fond of often failed to pull him from these frustrating fits. I came to stand beside him, gazing at my master in the soft light.

His features were sharp and slightly gaunt like those of a corpse, his dark eyes listless and lacking in their usual manic glow. His chocolate hair had been tousled into cyclonical waves, and his pointed chin was dusted with the light stubble of negligence. Despite his haphazard appearance, my master was an attractive man and on the rare occasions when he bothered to groom himself I had noticed many a woman cast flirtatious eyes his way. He sighed dramatically, leaning a slender arm on the window frame.

“You know, James, there is no greater curse than that of genius. As that fictional character of Doyle’s with whom I seem to identify most closely once said, “My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems; give me work!” I lack work, and therefore lack distraction. That may be the source of these maddening questions, James,” he spoke to me, but directed his words out the window, perhaps to whatever God whom Monstrumologists prayed to.

“Questions, sir?” I asked, and he pushed a hand through his hair agitatedly, turning to pace like an imprisoned lion.

“There are always questions, James. Always. They chase each other about in my head like rabbits, mad rabbits that bound in circles and never come close to anything resembling the truth. Why do I bother with such questions anyway?” he sank to the bed, head falling forlornly in his hands.

“After all, what are we in the end? Food for maggots and for monsters. Our ultimate destiny is to become fertilizer for the soil and to be consumed by every organism over whom we once believed ourselves superior. This is our fate,” he threw himself onto the pillows, gazing at the ceiling.

“And yet philosophy and theology persevere. We repopulate and build silly wooden houses and waste our time with religion and entertainment--why do we battle so fiercely with the inevitable, James?” he turned his soulful eyes on me, and I sat on the edge of his bed resignedly.

“I can’t say for the rest of the people in the world, but I know why I do it, sir,” I offered, and he rested a lanky arm over his eyes as if to shield the light of the world and crawl into some shelter from it.

“What do you live for, James Henry?” he murmured, and I glanced down at the gangly form, sprawled out across the bed in the throes of self-induced despair, all the destructive brilliance of a genius turned inwards.

“Well for Mary and Will, for starters. I love them, and I have to support and care for them. And I’ve got my own dreams and future ambitions, as futile and finite as they may be,” I admitted, and his lips twitched into a smile. I gazed at him for a moment, watching as he rolled to the side to contemplate his own dangling arm.

“And you of course.”

He fell still and silent, and I continued. “If we had never met, doctor, it is beyond my imagination where I would be at this very moment. If not here beside your bed having this conversation, then where? Somewhere terrible, most likely. The poorhouse, or the street. Maybe even dead,” I pondered, and he suddenly gave a harsh and deprecating laugh.

“I find it difficult to believe that you would meet death with more haste anywhere than at my side, James Henry,” he murmured, and I sighed, contemplating a less dour topic of conversation.

“Do you remember how we met?” I urged him, and when his silence persisted I almost began to wonder if he had forgotten. Then he turned his eyes on me, allowing a small smile.

“Of course I remember, James Henry.”

 

 


	5. James Henry, Was It?

“Please, sir, you’ve got to give us a little more time. Mary works so hard, and I’m going to a man this afternoon to ask about a position in his store. We’re trying to get the money,” I pleaded, and Andrew Nox heaved another sigh, sending a plume of cigar-scented breath clouding from behind the counter. I stood in the lobby of the New Jerusalem bank, consisting of one employee that now scowled down at me through spectacles that were too small for his round face, scrunching his beady eyes into shifty slits.

“James, I recall us having this conversation before. I loaned you money in full confidence that I would be repaid, and yet here you stand without my payment. What have you done with it then? Gambled it? Drank it?” he accused, and I felt my face flush with anger.

“No sir! It was for food, or new clothes or the house--I don’t know exactly how we spent it, but it was not frivolously! Just another month, Mr. Nox, please.”

He scribbled something down on the book in which he kept records of the accounts, leaving me squirming with nerves. The door opened, allowing a frigid blast of air inside, before snapping closed again hastily as another patron sought shelter and services inside. Nox replaced the pen, then folded his hands with dramatic slowness, leaning over the lip of the counter.

“James, you understand the severity of the situation, do you not? If I’m not repaid then I’ll be forced to remove you from your home and take other...drastic measures,” he warned, and I put my hands on the counter imploringly.

“I’m a clerk by trade sir, and we’re newer around here than most. Everyone who needs a clerk already has one! No one needs a farmhand in the dead of Winter--just a few more months, please,” I made my final plea, and Nox removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.

“James, I just can’t let this amount of money go so easily. I’ll have to raise your interest again,” he said, noting again in that infernal notebook of his, when suddenly a figure in a long dark coat and top hat swept up to the counter, shouldering me aside rudely but somehow gently.

“Mr. Nox, if you’re quite finished bullying this poor man, I’d like to perform a transaction before the season changes. I’ll have a word with this man and then attend to my business with you at such a time as I please since you obviously have all day to spend heckling debtors.” The newcoming man said all this sharply, crisply and without the slightest pause, and as Nox spluttered furiously he turned to me. His dark eyes pierced right through the core of me, and he took the fine hat from his tousled head, setting it on the counter and blocking Nox’s face from sight.

“I couldn’t help overhearing you are in need of employment, Mr...” he waited expectantly, and I realized he was waiting for my name.

“Henry! James Henry at your service,” I said breathlessly,  and he extended a long-fingered hand, which I took. It was cold and strong, like stone.

“Well James, it just so happens I am in need of a clerk myself. A temporary position while I put my father’s affairs in order. I don’t suppose you would have any interest in such an endeavor?” His eyes glittered with a discerning light, and I stammered disbelievingly for a reply like a fool.

“I-- Yes! Oh yes sir, I certainly would! Thank you!” I cried, and Nox’s protests finally drew my savior’s attention. He pushed a slender hand through wild waves of hair the color of pure cocoa and regarded the banker with an expression similar to one I might give a pile of dung after having stepped in it.

“I need to make a withdrawal from an account here,” he said impatiently and Nox, who had become red-faced in his anger, spluttered indignantly.

“Who do you think you are, you blustering, pompous aristocrat?!” he demanded, and the man turned eyes like a thunderbolt on the loan shark, who shrank visibly from his anger.

“I am Doctor Pellinore Xavier Warthrop, you sniveling idiot. This is the amount I require from the account of Alistair Warthrop, and I would suggest you snap to,” he said dangerously, and the stout little banker choked on his fury and hurried away to do his bidding. Doctor Pellinore Xavier Warthrop turned to me, eyes still snapping fire.

“I--”

“James Henry, was it?” he broke into my sentence abruptly, and I nodded mutely. “Well Mr. Henry, I expect to see you bright and early on the morrow at this address for your clerkly duties,” he asserted, scribbling something on a pad of paper and pressing it into my hand. Nox returned with the doctor’s desired money, and he took it with a rough swipe of his hand before striding to the exit, coat swirling about his legs. He turned back in the doorway, setting his hat atop his head with a flourish, and made thunderous eye contact with me.

“Bright and early, Mr. Henry,” he reminded, and I nodded helplessly as the door banged shut and my hero swept out into the cold.

\-----

I gazed up at the dark old house on Harrington Lane, double and triple checking the nearly illegible address. It was the correct place, so I approached the door painted soft peach by the dawn light and rapped sharply with my knuckles. I received no answer, so I tried the knob and the portal allowed me entry. I passed into the dusty interior, the utter silence of the place unsettling me. He was expecting me, so surely he resided somewhere in the house.

“Doctor Warthrop?” I called, and a thunderous clatter followed by a curse echoed from down the hallway. I rushed into the room--a well-furbished study--from which the cacophony had emanated to find that a bookcase had toppled over, slamming into the desk and leaving a heap of books and other materials in the center of the room from which a cloud of dust drifted. The pile shifted slightly, and I rushed to the aid of my newfound master as I realized he lay buried alive beneath the mound. I dug through the books in a panic, and a thin arm emerged and clutched at my shoulder, adding to my frenzy. When I finally unearthed the lanky doctor we collapsed upon the rug, breathless from the ridiculous ordeal we had just undergone.

“James Henry,” he began, and I turned to him, expecting a glowing praise of how I had rescued his life. He stood up, brushing himself off and raking his fingers through wild hair.

“You’re late.”

I stumbled to my feet, ears burning, and began to question how I was to know when ‘late’ was, but the doctor just turned as if he had said nothing of import and strode down the hall, sporting a slight limp. I stood, stunned for a moment, and then he called down the hall to me, “Snap to, James Henry!”

I found him in the library, rifling through an old chest. He quickly slid something out of sight, and I fidgeted with my wedding ring and waited for instructions. He pointed sharply at the cascades of papers, and I set about bringing them to some semblance of order in stacks.

“You’re Doctor Warthrop’s son, aren’t you?” I queried, and he nodded, dropping a stack of papers on the desk. I only knew of Warthrop Senior by hearsay, and my knowledge extended simply to include the fact that he was reclusive and strange and recently dead.

“Indeed. I am here to put his affairs in order and then I shall be on my way,” he said decisively, and I set to clearing the bookshelf as well.

“On your way to where? You live in a large city somewhere?” I guessed, and he chuckled with what I felt was a harshly self-deprecating manner.

“I have been in England. I don’t exactly live anywhere at the moment. I suppose I’ll sell this house and move to New York permanently,” he muttered, and I took the large encyclopedia he offered me.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what exactly did your father do for a living? He was a very quiet fellow, I didn’t know him well,” I admitted, and the doctor glanced my way, evaluating something in his eyes before returning to his work.

“I, as my father and grandfather before me, am a scientist,” he explained, and I began to attempt some form of organization to the seemingly useless materials.

“A scientist! Of what field?” I inquired, and he paused.

“Natural Biology.”

“That must be interesting,” I pressed, and he nodded, muttering something as he looked about under the desk. He backed out, puzzlement painted on his features.

“I can’t understand it,” he grumbled, and I knelt at his side, looking into the darkness beneath the desk.

“What is it, doctor?”

“My father...he was a great scientist in his day, a researcher and philosopher who contributed to his field in droves. In his old age he began to...well, deteriorate would be an appropriate word. He seems to have destroyed all his research materials,” he explained, and I frowned.

“Why would he do that?” I wondered, and the doctor shook his head.

“Just one more mystery in a great line of mysteries, James. And I do believe it is one I will never solve.”

\------

I stood, cracking my back and donning my coat. The light had long since faded from the dusty windows, and Mary would be very curious about my first day in occupation. I passed the doctor in the hallway, and he stopped curtly when he took in my appearance.

“Where are you going?” he asked, and I blinked in nervous confusion.

“Home sir, it’s past suppertime,” I pointed out, and he glanced at the clock and made a noncommittal sound as if he had known all along the time.

“You could eat here, although I admit I have precious little in the way of food,” he commented, and I shook my head, a bit surprised by his peculiar behavior. Over the past twelve hours I had discovered Doctor Pellinore Xavier Warthrop to be a very unusual man.

“My wife will be waiting for me,” I explained, and it was his turn to seem surprised before he nodded brusquely and stepped aside to allow me passage. I paused in the doorway, watching him head for the study.

“Doctor Warthrop sir?” I called, and he glanced my way. I smiled, giving him a wave of departure, which he received with a slightly quirked eyebrow.

“Try not to work too hard. I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” I promised, and his lips twitched upwards slightly.

I barely got through the front door of my home on Clary Street before I was accosted by a frantic Mary Henry.

“James! Where have you been? I thought that man had done something awful to you!” she cried, and I took her hands, smiling more brightly and genuinely than I had in a very long time.

“Mary, darling, I’ve met the most extraordinary man.”

 

 


	6. Monstrumology, James Henry

_I spent many weeks in the employment of the doctor and remained unawares to the true nature of the man I served. Our temporary situation dragged on, and I began to feel certain it was not temporary at all and that I would serve as a madman’s clerk for the rest of my days._

_How wrong I was._

“James, get the damnable door!”

I rushed from my late night duties in the study to the door where someone had knocked quite sharply, pulling it open to reveal a large man wearing a heavy coat and bearing a burlap wrapped package. He glanced around furtively, as if concerned he would be caught.

“This is the Warthrop house, ain’t it?” he asked in a strained whisper, and I looked him up and down with a queasy feeling in my stomach. What such an unsavory character was doing on the stoop at ten in the evening was quite beyond me.

“Yes...can I help you?” I asked a bit sharply, and he glanced inside nervously.

“Doctor Warthrop said he’d be here, I--” he stammered frantically, when suddenly a firm hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me back inside the house. Warthrop smiled tightly at me, eyes guarded.

“I need to have a word with this man. Go home, James, it matters little to you,” he assuaged and then snapped the door closed. I stood blinking at the door for a moment in confusion. What would a scientist be doing conversing with shady men bearing mysterious packages in the dark of night?

My feelings towards the Doctor were seeded with suspicion.

\------

I pulled the basement door open, bearing a heavy box of the younger Warthrop’s scientific tools and objects down to the depths. I descended the stairs and spotted his beanstalk figure at a table set in the center of the room. He bent over something lying on that table, and I paused as the sharp scent of decay rushed into my face. My gasp of surprise drew the attention of the man in the middle of the room, and he whirled so sharply I nearly dropped the box in my hands.

“James Henry! This is a scientist’s private laboratory and not a place for clerks! Out, out I say!” He roared, and I set the box down hurriedly before rushing back to the stairs. I could not identify the thing on the table, but I had the definitive feeling it was not something of God’s earth. It belonged to the shadows and the night as, I was beginning to see, did Pellinore Warthrop.

\------

The muttering from upstairs had decreased to a murmur, and I glanced at the forbidden basement stairs as I stacked a set of the doctor’s papers. Humans are by nature an exceedingly curious species, and I am certainly no exception to this reality. I set down my materials and crept across the hard wooden floors and lay my hand upon the basement door, the lid of Pandora’s box. I understand now what drove her to thrust it open and release the maladies and scourges of the earth.

With this same fateful inquisitiveness I descended the stairs into darkness.

At first the basement appeared just as any other, but then my eyes fell upon the table on which lay a shrouded object of odd shape. A sickly sweet scent hung faintly in the air, and I approached the examination table slowly. I would be betraying the doctor’s trust...but if his activities were illegal I may have had reason to fear for my employment.

Or even my life.

I threw back the fabric and felt my heart lunge violently into my throat at the shocking and unexpected sight.

On the cold metal table lay the carcass of what appeared to be a mammal of some kind, with bulbous eyes and bony spines along its arched back. The feet were spayed and three-toed, and a long tongue lolled from the slightly parted toothy jaws. I stumbled back with a cry, disbelieving of what I had seen. Yet there it lay, dead with its chest cavity gaping open on my master’s examination table.

I covered my mouth to stifle my frenzied breathing, leaning against the wall. This natural biology Doctor Warthrop studied seemed to be quite unnatural indeed!

A soft scratching caught my attention, and I stiffened. If the doctor found me here he would surely terminate my employment on the spot. I turned, eyes roaming the dark space, and suddenly a flash of movement darted past my left. I whirled, suppressing the desire to run with all haste up the stairs for fear of detection, and before I could blink it was upon me.

The unholy beast on the table had apparently come with unholy spawn, and the tiny creature clambered up my leg as if it were a tree and began to slash viciously at any part of me it could reach. I fell back as it shrieked in beastial fury for its fallen parent, and raised my arms against its talons. The skin on my arms gave way to the razored claws, and I did the only thing I could do.

“Doctor Warthrop! Doctor!” I cried for my master, knowing that even termination of my service could not prove a worse fate than death at the hands of this demonic creature. It swept a claw past my arms and a trickle of blood followed fire hot pain as it did its best to sever my jugular. I waylaid it, but my gore slick hands fumbled helplessly as I struggled against my enemy.

Suddenly a shadow fell over our duel and the beast squealed as it was wrenched away from my body by the spiny scruff of its neck. Doctor Warthrop wrestled it into a small box, where it threw itself against the walls several times before falling into an angry silence.

When he turned on me I flinched, the fire in his eyes striking fear into me such as I have never known. Perhaps I would have fared better against the monster after all. He approached, and I scrambled back, stammered for an explanation, an apology, anything to stay his vengeful hand.

Pellinore knelt and took my hands away from where they protected my face, removing a towel from his pocket and pressing it to the burning wound in my neck. I gasped in surprised pain, and he gestured to the towel.

“Hold this here, stem the bleeding. I shall disinfect the lacerations, but I must warn you it will be painful,” he said, rising back to his impressive height, and I made to stand before his eyes flashed lightning in my direction.

“Stay where you are, you stupid man, or you will injure yourself further!” He ordered, and I fell back, ears burning with shame. He may have been withholding the full range of his fury, but I was not under any impression that I would escape it when I was deserving.

Barely a moment passed of the doctor rifling through equipment before he returned, crouching before me and gesturing for my free arm. I extended it tenderly. When he gripped the wounded flesh his delicate fingers rested surprisingly gently, and when he pressed the alcohol soaked rag to my injuries it was with soft insistence. I gasped as fiery pain shot up from my fingers to my shoulder and instinctively tried to pull back from what was hurting me. He held my arm sternly, applying the rag to the many lacerations I had received from his little experiment.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and I started and looked up at him questioningly. He returned my gaze with serious dark eyes, and I nodded mutely. He bound my now-sterile right arm in soft bandages, moving to my left. The pain was less this time as I was prepared, and the process went quickly. I gathered my courage and looked into the doctor’s striking face as it bent over my injuries.

“What was that...that creature that attacked me, and the one on the table?” I asked, and he tightened the bandages on my left arm sharply enough that I winced.

“They are not your concern, James,” he retorted quickly, removing the towel from my neck. I leaned my head back and let his long fingers do their work on the vicious little creature’s attempt at murder.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured softly, and his hands stilled.

“I am thankful you were not more seriously injured. I realize it was foolhardy of me to allow you here without proper warning of the true nature of my profession,” he replied, and as if in response the creature howled from its cage. My medical care attended to, Doctor Warthrop rocked back on his heels and stood, brushing his hands spotted with my blood clean on a smock hanging from a peg on the wall. I started to follow, but the remaining blood in my body rushed violently to my head and I hurriedly lowered myself back to the floor as lights danced before my eyes.

“Come on then, James Henry,” he said, offering a hand to me, and I gripped it weakly, allowing him to haul me bodily from the floor. His arms steadied me and he helped me gain my balance before gesturing for me to follow. I obeyed, and we came to stand beside the macabre autopsy table in the center of this dungeon.

“This is a little known creature you may have heard of in legends. It lives mainly on blood, similar to the vampire bat, and keeps to the shadows of night. It is native to the Mexico area; this one had to be transported secretly by train from the frontier. It appears this female was more pregnant than I had originally assumed. The creature that attacked you was her unborn young. See here, how it clawed its way free of the uterus,” he said, lifting the loose flap of skin where he had cut it away from the ribs, and the inside of the beast’s stomach proved to be a bloody mess. I nodded, feeling slightly queasy from the sights and the scent of flesh beginning to putrefy.

“Enough talk of monsters now, James Henry, you have seen quite enough for one evening,” he said, steering me towards the stairs, and I mounted them slowly, dizziness overtaking me. We managed to make it to the library, where I collapsed in the overstuffed armchair facing the cold fireplace. The doctor paced back and forth, seeming agitated.

“Monsters exist, then?” I asked hesitantly, and he shook his head as he turned, eyes glowing.

“No, no, not Monsters. They are merely undiscovered  cryptids that mainstream science has yet to accept. That is why we study them, James--we Monstrumologists,” he explained, and I rubbed my aching head with throbbing arm.

“So that is what you do? Monstermo--”

“Monstrumology, James Henry. And yes, it is.”

We fell into silence for a few moments as I tried to absorb all this new information and he began again his pacing. I watched him, fidgeting with the bandages on my wrists. He made no attempt at conversation, and after several minutes I could contain my curiosity no longer.

"Shall I collect my things, sir?" I asked, and he stopped his restless wandering to gaze at me as if I had lost my mind.

“Your things? Whatever for?” he replied, and I looked down, unable to meet his piercing eyes.

“Well I disobeyed you and caused such a mess, sir, surely you plan to release me from your employment?” I ventured, and he frowned, face cast into shadow by the dying light at the window.

“Do you wish to be thus released?” he queried, and I thought about it. My path down this road could be dangerous, fraught with peril and darkness and strange things. I met his eyes at last, and their dark depths sang to me of adventure and grandeur and something stronger and more passionate than I had as of yet any words for.

“No, sir,” I admitted, and he nodded abruptly, clapping his hands together and striding across the room to the bookshelves I had meticulously organized.

“Then you shan’t. However, if you are to be promoted from clerk to assistant, then there are a great many things you must learn. Are you prepared for this responsibility?” he proposed, and I took a steadying breath and nodded.

My life was changed forever and my destiny set in stone.

 

 


End file.
